


a little rush

by unraelated



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Aftercare, Azure Moon/Verdant Wind Joint Route, BDSM, Cock Warming, Dom Claude, ENTIRELY PWP there is NO plot, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Painplay, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Spanking, Sub Dimitri, Subspace, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22182850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unraelated/pseuds/unraelated
Summary: Dimiclaude day 8: Free DayDimitri goes to Claude when he needs to stop thinking for awhile. Claude is very good at making his mind go blank.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 13
Kudos: 271





	a little rush

**Author's Note:**

> I realized that I had nothing for day 8 and wrote this in a 4 hour binge speed write, so I deeply apologize if it's uhhh weird in any way.
> 
> To be perfectly fair to me, when I held a poll on twitter, you guys voted for porn and then suggested Dom Claude, so technically it's your fault. :P

The night before they set off for Enbarr, Dimitri finds himself at Claude's door again. 

This is different from the first time when he was naive and searching for something, _anything_ to sate the deep ache in him. It's even different from the second time when he knew more properly what he was getting into and wanted to ask for more, but was too shy to bring it up.

This time, he knows what he's looking for. He knows what he needs, with a startling clarity that he's never really had before. 

Claude knows it too. He opens the door and his expression is welcoming, pleasant, but it fades when he sees the look on Dimitri's face.

"Your princeliness!" he starts still, careful not to assume, "it's pretty late. Is this a social call?"

Dimitri shakes his head and even now, even though they have a system, his tongue feels thick and heavy. 

_I know you have trouble asking for things,_ Claude had told him after last time, the second time, _so how about this: when you need it, you say the word. If I agree, we start._

Claude chooses silence now, watching as Dimitri moves to the center of the room, his gauntleted hands clenching and unclenching into tight fists. It's on the tip of his tongue, the only word in his mind, repeating over and over again and he needs to say it. Claude won't move, won't touch him, won't do anything if he doesn't say it. 

But _oh_ , he feels so tight inside, like his guts are in an elaborate knotwork and his mind holds the end of the string and it _pulls_ every time he thinks about what's to come. He wets his lips and takes a deep breath and doesn't speak.

"Perhaps…." Claude starts, gentle, "a glass of wine and conversation? I know you must be nervous about -" 

"- arsenic."

Claude stops as soon as Dimitri says it, his mouth still hanging open. Slowly, he closes it. Out of the corner of his eye, Dimitri sees Claude take in a deep breath, and then a sense of calm drapes over him like a blanket. His expression is suddenly and jarringly devoid of humor as he nods, half-lidded, and turns away, moving to pull out his desk chair and sit at it with an ankle crossed over his knee. 

Dimitri doesn't say anything while he moves, just watches as Claude draws up all the power in the room until it feels like it's been sapped away from even him. When Claude is finally seated again and staring at him, Dimitri feels that familiar clutch in his chest, dislodging the ache that comes from his station, his rage, his anticipation of what's to come - dislodging it, but not removing it entirely. 

That will come later.

"Lock the door," Claude tells him, his voice flat, "and then strip. Once you're done, crawl to me."

Dimitri does as he's told. He feels clumsy when he fiddles with the lock on the door, shutting it in place and staying there for a moment, still, processing. He takes a deep breath then and begins to remove his armor.

He’s still wearing it after an earlier training session and so it takes him more time to remove. He doesn’t look back at Claude while he does so, just focuses on the task that was given to him. Dimitri is good at tasks, he enjoys knowing exactly what to do and finds a certain peace in not having to decide for himself.

 _Obedient,_ Claude had murmured appreciatively last time. It sticks in Dimitri’s brain like sugar, repeating itself whenever he thinks back on it. _Obedient_ , Claude had said, and Dimitri doesn’t know if any other word has ever described him better.

He gets the gauntlets and wristguards off, removes the chest plate and leg armor and sets it all next to the bed, casting a quick glance up toward Claude to find that the other man has turned back toward the desk and is currently looking over some kind of report or another, quill perched delicately in his hand as he considers it.

He isn’t looking at Dimitri at all.

And it’s a relief, really, Dimitri wouldn’t know what to do if he was expected to put on a show, or to make this somehow entertaining for Claude. Instead, he continues stripping, down to the fabric of his clothing now, and shivers at the chill in the air without all of his layers. The shirt goes, then the pants, and then even his underclothes, and still, Claude doesn’t look at him.

Slowly, Dimitri slides to the floor.

It’s here that Claude finally reacts, taking his hand off of his quill and lowering it beside him, twitching his fingers as if to entice him closer. He continues reading and Dimitri shuffles over on his hands and knees, feeling a bit ridiculous but knowing that he would never disobey an order, not when Claude makes obedience _so_ worth it.

He noses at Claude’s hand when he’s close enough and feels the fingers splay out over his face before sliding up into his hair, gently tugging at the strap of his eyepatch. Claude makes a questioning noise, goes still for a moment, but Dimitri doesn’t protest or move away and so he tugs it off, leaving Dimitri even more exposed than he’s felt in a long time. This is just the beginning.

“What do you say,” Claude begins to ask, never taking his eyes off of the paper in his hand, “when you want this to stop?”

Dimitri swallows around the lump in his throat. He already feels hoarse.

“Antidote.”

The hand slides down to his face, thumb pulling idly at his lip.

“And again, when you want to continue?”

“Arsenic.”

Claude nods, humming in the back of his throat as he slides his chair out just a fraction, just enough to create a small space in the cubby meant for footroom below his desk. Dimitri’s eye flicks up toward him and Claude finally tears his attention away from his work, looking down to the man beneath him.

“I still have preparations to make for tomorrow. I’d like you to wait for me.” He says it straightforward, and Dimitri can see the gentle smile on his face now, guiding, willing to do whatever he needs. He shivers and nods and Claude inclines his head, sliding his eyes to the space at his feet. A silent demand.

Dimitri obeys. _Obedient_. He moves back on his knees and crawls under the desk, crowded into the small space by the curve of Claude’s knees and the firmness of the wall behind him and the drawers of the desk on either side. Claude makes a soft, pleased noise and the sound holds itself in Dimitri’s chest long after the room has gone silent.

Claude moves in closer, scooting his chair back up - careful not to hit Dimitri with the legs of it - and crowding Dimitri into the shadowy space underneath the desk with his legs.

It’s dark.

Darker than the rest of the room, darker now that Claude’s body is blocking out most of the light, and Dimitri feels some primal part of him loosen and slowly begin to unclench. He’s seen the cats in the monastery scurry underneath carts, behind bookshelves, or inside of dusty boxes and imagines that it’s guided by the same principle that starts to calm him now. Safe, quiet, and _warm_.

So warm. Claude’s legs are still, nestled around him, and in that small section of the room the temperature seems warmer for all the body heat trapped inside. Comforting. Dimitri closes his eye and shifts just slightly, tipping his head to rest on Claude’s thigh once he’s made himself more comfortable.

How could he even be comfortable there? It’s a tight space, almost cramped, but as soon as he’s in it, Dimitri feels protected and safe, and when Claude slides his hand down to touch his hair again, affectionate and soft, Dimitri goes slack against him and lets himself be.

There are still things in the back of his mind. There is still a war. There’s still Edelgard, Lambert, and all the rest of the voices who scream to him from the other side… but here, nestled against Claude’s thigh, with Claude’s hand in his hair, they seem further away.

He takes solace in the occasional scratch of quill on paper above him as Claude works - genuinely, _works_ \- through their encounter. Claude removes his hand every once in awhile when he needs both of them to flip through various pages, find letters, or open a folded page, but otherwise, he is always present, always _there_ with a palm resting possessively on his head.

Dimitri doesn’t know how long he’s down there for. Ten minutes - twenty? Time slips away from him, leaves him feeling loose-limbed and pliant and it’s only when his hip starts to complain from the uncomfortable floor beneath him that he shifts with a little grunt, readjusting himself and bumping Claude’s hand off of him.

Claude goes still and Dimitri thinks he might be looking down, but he’s not sure.

“Dimitri?” he asks, and Dimitri hears the question in his voice.

“Arsenic,” he replies, his tongue feeling looser now. Claude hums in acknowledgement and moves back in, spreading his legs a little wider to allow Dimitri more space between them to rest.

“I should… get you a cushion,” Claude ponders out loud, an elbow on the desk, “a dog bed, maybe. I don’t want you to hurt your knees.”

Dimitri huffs out a breath from his nose and presses his chin to Claude’s thigh again. With his legs more open like this, he can see the indent of his soft cock, just barely an outline through the fabric. He waits a few moments, until Claude is working again, and leans forward to gently put his mouth on it.

Claude stills but doesn’t tell him to stop. Instead, he just murmurs: “naughty,” like it’s a soft admonishment, but he reaches his hand down - the hand he pets him with - to open his pants, unlacing at the hem, sliding down his hips just enough to get his cock out.

It’s soft and uninterested so far but neither of them mind. Dimitri murmurs and leans forward to touch his lips to it, inhaling the earthy, musky smell of him. But Claude didn’t tell him to suck or to service him and so he simply opens his mouth and takes the most tender part of Claude inside, mindful of his teeth, and lets it rest against his tongue.

Claude doesn’t react - whether it’s part of the game or whether he’s still _that_ interested in military expenses is beyond him. All that matters to Dimitri is the hand back in his hair, the warmth in his mouth, and the floating feeling of being taken _care_ of, of having some use to someone that isn’t tied up in guilt and anger and leadership.

All it is, is this. He breathes through his nose and doesn’t bother taking him in deeper, doesn’t bother trying to get him hard, just _holds_ , feeling more connected to him than he has to any other person.

Another few minutes pass by like that, until Claude takes his hand away from Dimitri’s hair to move up to his papers again as he gathers them up in his hands and straightens them in a papery _thump, thump, thump_ against his desk, before lying them flat.

Slowly, he moves down to guide himself out of Dimitri’s mouth and wipes the saliva from his cock before tucking it back into his pants and scooting his chair back far enough so that, when he ducks his head down, he can see the shadowy figure of a naked Dimitri beneath his desk.

“Come out, kneel for me. I’m ready now.”

Dimitri nods and slowly creeps out from under the desk, stays on his knees for him. Instinctively, he crosses his arms behind his back, which makes Claude give a murmur of approval. Once he’s out and blinking to adjust to the sudden influx of light, Claude moves to stand, walking over to the chest at the foot of his bed.

“Now… a few questions. Answer them truthfully for me, Dimitri.”

The use of his name, his _name_ , sends a chill through his spine and Dimitri squirms, not hard yet but beginning to feel anticipation build back up again after so long under Claude’s desk.

“...do you want to be restrained?” Claude asks and Dimitri lets a small frown come to his face as he considers it.

“No.”

It’s understandable, really: nothing could _truly_ restrain him, at least, nothing in Claude’s box. He’d need chains if he wanted to actually make Dimitri feel helpless with it, and knowing that he could break their play in an instant made Dimitri feel less secure in it.

“Do you want me to be gentle?” Claude asks again, and again, Dimitri says:

“No.”

“Hm.” Claude rifles through a few things but he’s on Dimitri’s bad side and Dimitri can’t see him without turning his head. Claude pulls a few things out and sits on the edge of the bed, and now he turns to look at him, the anticipation bringing tension.

Claude doesn’t seem to want that and he reaches out for him, trailing his fingers along the side of Dimitri’s face.

“So beautiful…” he muses, his eyes flickering down to Dimitri’s chest, his powerful thighs, and his lips quirk up into a smile. “You can relax. I know.”

Apparently, Dimitri’s expression turns questioning or disbelieving because Claude smiles and his fingers clutch at Dimitri’s hair, dragging his head to the side in the most forceful move he’s used all night. Dimitri whimpers, helpless but to follow the pull of his arm and Claude tsks in the back of his throat.

“I know that you like the pain. I know that you think it’s because you deserve it. What I think that you won’t admit, even to yourself, is that you need the pleasure to hurt so bad that you can forgive yourself for giving into it.”

His fingers twist harder, _pulling_ , and Dimitri gasps, feeling the bright spark of pain flush through his senses, sweet and crystalline, a promise of what’s to come.

“I intend to work through that,” Claude tells him, dragging until Dimitri is forced to walk toward him on his knees, until his face bumps into Claude’s thigh and Claude keeps pulling.

“Dimitri?” he asks, and Dimitri knows how to reply, even though he’s breathless with it.

“Ar-arsenic.”

“Good boy,” Claude murmurs in response, dragging Dimitri up now, onto the bed next to him and directing him to lay over his lap, which he does readily. Claude’s hand finally leaves his hair and he pets over the expanse of Dimitri’s back in his lap, his fingers stumbling over various scars and the indents of his ribs. The hand pulls away and Dimitri longs for the warmth of it, but Claude is fiddling with something, something Dimitri can’t see.

The first impact of - _whatever it is_ \- against his ass makes Dimitri jump in place with a confused cry. It isn’t Claude’s hand, it feels heavy, _wooden_ , and he startles with it like a spooked colt until Claude’s other hand comes up around his shoulders, nudging him back down, back into some form of relaxation, only for him to hit him again, harder.

Dimitri exhales and forgets to inhale again when the next blow comes, and then the next. Each strike feels _heavy_ , full, until he’s sure that he must be red with the ache of it.

Claude stops after a time, setting the object down and Dimitri recognizes it now that he can see it: a brush like someone might use on a horse, flat wooden one side and _solid_ , with a rubber handle and a thick tuft of fibers opposite the wooden backing that had presumably been striking at him.

He’s so focused on it, that he hadn’t realized Claude moving him in small motions, spreading his legs, tucking his hand up under the swell of his ass until his fingers were pressed against the soft tenderness of his balls. Dimitri tenses but Claude doesn’t do anything to hurt him there, simply strokes lovingly, his fingers sliding along the sensitive skin there, one adventurous index finger slipping up and tracing at the crease of him, feather-light and almost not there at all as it flutters over his hole.

It’s pleasure, but it’s the kind of pleasure that comes on the edge of pain, and when Claude pulls his hand back and flexes his fingers so his nails dig into the reddened part of Dimitri’s ass, every sharp sensation of his fingernails feels like a razor against his abused skin.

Dimitri huffs, tempted to cry out again, but he holds it in while Claude picks up the brush again.

Now that he’s had time to recover and loosen with the small bit of pleasure, the first impact of the brush against his ass _does_ make Dimitri cry out, and it feels harder than Claude had hit him before. It strikes him again, _heavy_ , and Dimitri moves on impulse, tensing as he brings his arms up, his legs locking so that his knees lift him up from Claude’s lap.

“There, there,” Claude gentles him, sliding the flat of the brush between his legs, until Dimitri can feel the soft bristles against the inside of one thigh, the cold wood against the other. Claude slides it up, nudging at the underside of his cock as if to remind him that this is about pleasure, and the alien and bulky weight of it pressed against him feels _good_ , a sweet relief compared to the pain it had given him earlier. Dimitri straightens further, up on his hands and knees now as Claude evaluates him.

“I love that you trust me with this,” Claude confides in him and Dimitri turns his head to look until he can see Claude’s face, the awe there, the softness, and the barely-hidden desire when he looks at Dimitri’s body, just above his lap.

He looks at him like there’s a puzzle to be undone. He looks at him like there is some kind of _strategy_ he’s working out.

“I love that only I get to see you this way,” he continues and squirms up so he can slide backward on the bed and grab for Dimitri’s waist, haul him in and flop him down, flat on his back. Claude tilts his head down toward him, his eyes unashamedly looking toward Dimitri’s half-hard cock, and he smiles bright like he’s just figured something out. “That you give this to me and let me have this of you. Your trust, Dimitri, is a gift. I will do everything in my power to honor it. Never forget that.”

Dimitri swallows hard, looking up toward Claude and he - he wants to feel self conscious, wants in some way, to reject the sweetness of those words, but given the healthy beating that Claude has just given him, the pain in his buttocks and even in his knees and thighs for kneeling so long, he finds that he can’t. He’s too exhausted to fight the praise and the appreciative look in Claude’s eyes and so he just lets it happen, tilts his head back and nods under a hiccuping breath.

Claude smiles a glinting smile and finally begins to undress. As he has for the entirety of the night, he makes Dimitri wait for it, unwrapping himself from his clothing slowly and carefully, folding it and setting it aside, one at a time.

It’s hard not to look at him when he reveals the soft planes of his chest, the divot of his collarbone and once again, the satisfying plumpness of his cock. It’s firmer than it had been in Dimitri’s mouth and Dimitri salivates for the taste of it again, shifting up on his elbows to get a better look.

“Eager?” Claude asks, teasing, and Dimitri huffs out a breath while Claude reaches down for the chest at the foot of the bed, picking up the base of a candle that he must have lit earlier, when he was fiddling with all the things that Dimitri couldn’t see.

“...I was, until…”

He doesn’t know what Claude intends to do with such a thing and the confusion tempers his arousal, but Claude only laughs, holding it steady. The candle itself is a deep purple, several inches in diameter, and the burn of it has already created a divot where the wax had melted away under the soft flame, forming a glistening puddle.

“Trust me,” Claude murmurs, his eyes low, and Dimitri does, with everything in him. Claude leans in then, kisses him, and tilts his hand, dripping the first splash of wax over Dimitri’s stomach.

It’s heat - it’s searing, blinding heat and Dimitri’s eye flies open at the sudden shock of it, his stomach tensing, arms lifting up, but Claude is careful and has already kept his arm holding the candle out of Dimitri’s reach.

“Claude - “ he starts, and Claude tilts his head, lips pursed.

“Dimitri?”

He shakes his head, teeth gritting, and turns his eye down to watch as the hot splash of wax slowly dries from where it dipped down his stomach, surrounded by angry, red skin.

“ - yes, arsenic, okay, I - “

And Claude does it again, on his thigh this time, and Dimitri falls flat against the bed, his leg twisting outward to avoid the wax dripping anywhere _too_ sensitive. It’s obscene, it - it hurts like a fire, and there’s nothing left in him but to embrace the pain and let it clean him out, scrub him of everything else he could be feeling.

Another drop on his hipbone, and Claude holds the candle _lower_ for this one, so that the wax has less time to cool in the air and Dimitri practically convulses, arching up on his back with a shrill sound as it pools in the tender flesh on the inside of his hip.

“Claude,” he pants, and Claude leans in to kiss his forehead, tender, and all Dimitri can say again is, ” _Claude_.”

“I’ve got you,” Claude promises, moving the candle to his left hand and reaching down with his right to touch at Dimitri’s cock, wrapping his fingers around it for the first time. The sensations of relief as the wax cools, the pain that sears deep into his skin, and the sweet, _sweet_ pleasure as Claude begins to stroke him almost feels like too much. 

There’s no room for anything else in him, not grief, not guilt, not anxiety, and Claude eyes his aim, careful this time, lifting the candle up higher and delicately letting a small drop spill onto his chest.

It splashes onto a nipple and Dimitri locks his jaw tight and _screams_ into his closed mouth while Claude strokes at him more firmly, murmuring soft reassurances as he carefully blows the candle out and leans in, running the flat of his tongue over the other firm bud at his chest.

It’s almost too much, the wetness of Claude’s tongue and the heat, the goddess-damned _heat_ licking at him on the other side and Dimitri squirms, thrusting up into Claude’s hand and chasing the pleasure that he offers.

“I’m going to take such good care of you,” Claude croons, his hand slipping lower, briefly palming at Dimitri’s balls before lifting back up to stroke the gentlest finger along the underside of his cock.

The light touch is almost as maddedning and Dimitri shifts his hips back up into it, distracted while Claude passes the candle to his other hand and tips it - the damn _candle_ , didn’t he blow it out? - and the cooling wax drips down over his thighs again. There’s more of it and it’s less hot but that doesn’t make it _painless_ , especially when it drips down again to his inner thigh, briefly flirting with the already-reddened skin of his ass.

The candle is set aside then and Dimitri rolls to his side, trembling, hard and hurting from it. Claude looks down at him, and he must feel some kind of pity because he traces his fingers along Dimitri’s side now, the touch soothing despite what he’d just done to him.

The candle is gone. Claude leans up to kiss him again, just behind the ear, and lets his fingers trail along to the dried wax on his stomach, the first drops that Claude splashed onto him. It’s now hardened like a shell on his skin, and when Claude digs his nail against his burned flesh to pry it off, it’s both incredibly satisfying and exquisitely painful.

“ _Claude_ ,” he groans, and Claude turns him back onto his back, peeling now at the wax on his hip. Dimitri jumps with it and draws in a hitching breath and Claude looks at him, considering, before sitting up and hooking a leg over Dimitri’s shoulders, backward, so he’s staring down at the rest of his body while Dimitri looks up at his spine.

“Hush now,” he says, crawling back until his ass is pressed against Dimitri’s face and he can’t see anything anymore, but _oh_ , he can feel the first touch of Claude’s cock to his lips and he wraps his mouth around it like it’s his lifeline as Claude carefully positions himself over Dimitri, as if to suck his own dick in turn.

He does not.

“You can’t speak,” Claude reasons, “so rap your knuckles on the headboard if you want it to stop. Do it now, so I know you understand me.”

It feels like it takes all of his strength, but Dimitri manages, lifting an arm up to strike weakly at the wood of the headboard and Claude says something soft before he resumes his task, focused now.

Each pull of the wax on his skin is a fresh pain, like he’s never experienced it before, and with each new wave of it comes the new sensation of cool air on his tender and aching flesh. Dimitri jars with each one but not enough to forget his task, the weight in his mouth, and he suckles at it the best he can, coaxing Claude to full hardness now and forcing the other man up, to arch his back in the most ridiculous and arousing way to keep his cock in Dimitri’s mouth while he works.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Claude hisses, prying it up from between his thighs and Dimitri whines with his mouth full, takes a deep breath of Claude’s scent through his nose and presses further inward to get more of him in his mouth, as if the makeshift-gag could prevent him from crying out any further.

When it’s done, when all the wax is scratched off of him, Claude finally pulls away and allows Dimitri to breathe, though his gaze lingers on Dimitri’s face when he can finally get a good look at him again.

Dimitri knows how he must look - he can feel the wetness of his own saliva on his cheeks, his lips swollen, face flushed, hair messy and sticking to his jaw. He wants to say something, wants to tell him - _thank you_ , or ask him _please_ , but Claude said he knows, Claude always knows, and so he just _looks_ at him, aching with it, his cock hard against his hip despite all of the torment he’s been through tonight.

It’s enough. Claude seems to think it’s enough, because he moves down and touches at Dimitri’s knee, below his reddened thighs, and slinks down alongside his body until he can look at him properly again, his lips quirked into a smile.

“Another day, I’ll fuck you,” he tells him, and Dimitri’s hips pulse at the mere thought of it, “another day I’ll let you fuck me. But today, I think… I’ll have you like this.”

He lifts Dimitri’s legs this time, both of them, to rest his knees on Claude’s shoulders and the stretch and shift of it burns at the ache in his thighs, in his ass - and Claude seems to know _exactly_ how that sort of pain feels, because he slots his cock above Dimitri’s own - not quite able to press perfectly flush against his due to the position, but close enough - pressed against the soreness of his inner thighs, and gives a tentative thrust.

“Use your hand,” he instructs and Dimitri does just that, reaching down and taking them both in his fist, groaning as the shift of Claude’s hips scrapes at the redness of his thighs and soreness of his backside. Every movement that he does _hurts_ , but it hurts in such a beautiful, sparkling way that Dimitri can’t tell the pleasure from the pain anymore.

He can’t reason much of anything - can’t speak, can’t breathe, can just tighten his fingers around them and feel the slickness of their precum start to ease the way and goddess, _fuck_ , when it gets onto Claude’s cock and the slick of it spreads just slightly onto his thighs, it feels like a balm for all of the burned parts of him.

“Claude,” he says again - has he said anything else tonight? Will he ever say another word again? Claude knows exactly how to take him apart, how to calm him down and then rile him up, how to hurt him in the sweetest of ways that makes his entire world light up with pain and pleasure and more, more, _more_ -

“ _Please_!” he cries out in a voice he doesn’t recognize as his own, and Claude’s hand moves to cover his, his hips stuttering now as Dimitri’s leg falls from one of his shoulders without that arm to keep it up. He doesn’t care. Claude doesn’t care.

Claude grunts and his thrusts turn into half-frenzied, short, desperate things as he clutches at their cocks together and rocks his hips, leaning in, in, until Dimitri’s leg still on his shoulder stretches uncomfortably, pulling at the battered skin and that’s it, he can’t take it anymore -

Dimitri comes with a muffled scream, throwing his head to the side and locking his jaw around the pillow as it all flashes through him like lightning, like glass, opening up every part of him in the most beautiful, painful way and guided out to the other side by Claude, sweet Claude, who would do this to him night after night after night -

He goes limp there, pliant as Claude fucks out his own release in the aftershocks of Dimitri’s orgasm, and it splatters to his stomach, mixes with his own, and goddess above, still makes the reddened burns on his hips and abdomen feel better.

And then, Dimitri feels light, weightless. He might as well be nothing at all, with how little he can think right now, as if Claude had just tortured and fucked all the proper thought from his mind.

His eye half-closes, but he can still see a blurry image of Claude catching his breath, Claude looking at him with a sweet smile, and Claude stepping off of the bed -

“No,” Dimitri whispers, reaching for him, scared suddenly, to be alone with this feeling. Claude leans in, hushing at him, presses a kiss to his temple.

“I’m just getting something to clean you up with,” he promises, “I’ll talk to you the whole time so you know right where I am.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dimitri knows that it’s probably necessary, and so he lets Claude go, tilting his head and listening for his voice.

“I’m getting a cloth and a water skin now, some salve for your burns - oh poor dear, you’re going to have to ride on horseback tomorrow, maybe wear some padded pants for your legs… well, it can’t be helped, huh? I bet that every time you ache, you’re going to think about me - I want that, you know? I want you to think about our time together and how lucky I am to have you like this. I’m so proud of you for coming to me when you needed it, just - aha! Here’s that salve. Okay, I’m coming back now.”

Claude cheerily makes his way back into Dimitri’s view and he climbs onto the bed with him, nudging at DImitri to scoot over so he can start caring for the aftermath.

He begins with a cool cloth pressed against Dimitri’s forehead before anything else, and then another cloth, soaked in water, to wipe their spend from him, along with a few small remnants of the wax. Dimitri flinches and whimpers, but the water feels _divine_ against his skin and so he can’t help but to press in for more.

When it’s relatively cleaned up, Claude tells him how strong he is, how wonderful he was, how hot it was when he just _took_ it for him, as he opens the jar and gently spreads some healing ointment on the worst of the burns, bandaging them just so that Dimitri doesn’t get the clinical greasy smell all over the blankets when he sleeps.

By this time, Dimitri’s head is starting to clear, and he blinks when Claude gently sets down his leg from where he'd been spreading salve over his inner thigh, and then turns Dimitri on his side so that he doesn’t have to lay on his aching flesh.

“Are you okay?” he finally asks, once he’s settled in behind him and Dimitri nods wordlessly. Claude trails his fingers along Dimitri’s stomach and hums again, satisfied and pleased with how the night has gone.

“I really meant what I said, you know.” When Claude whispers it into his neck, it feels like some kind of secret. Dimitri is too tired to turn his head to look back, and so Claude continues. “I’m proud of you. You did really well. You’re so obedient for me…”

There’s that word again. Dimitri finds that he feels pride rather than shame when he hears it and it makes him relax further into Claude’s hold around him.

The exhaustion gives way to sleepiness, which eventually gives way to sleep: sore, aching, but feeling so _safe_ with Claude around him, like nothing could ever hurt him again.

**Author's Note:**

> And with that, there's 1 fic for each day in Dimiclaude week!!! I really hope that you guys had as much fun with this week as I did, and here's to more fics in the future!
> 
> Twitter is [unraelated](https://twitter.com/unraelated), come say hi!


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